Phobia
by Andtheflamereturns
Summary: Based on the Masked Kane Return promo on 11/21/11. Sometimes, our masks define us - and that of the soul of a monster, and a man. Kane-centric.


**Author's Note:** Okay, who else marked the fuck out at that Kane promo earlier? As an admitted Kane-aanite, I about died! Simply amazing. I love Kane with or without the mask, but I did love Masked!Kane more, so when that promo aired featuring the mask again, I flipped the hell out. So excited! I did ponder over one thought though and that was about the match he was holding. I know he burned the picture (and the mask, presumably) with it, but what if, in his desire to feel like a monster, took it a step further? That's where this little one-shot comes in. As a massive Kane fangirl, I do feel this is in his character. Kane has always been unstable and unpredictable, to the point of border-line insanity and schizophrenic; I wanted to copulate on those traits by making him analyze himself and attempt to awaken the monster within. If he's going to wear the mask, I feel there should be a reason to do so, and even though this is the least likely direction and I'm completely okay with WWE just doing it for the hell of it, I couldn't get this idea out of my head and decided to write it. Based on the promo!

**Rating: **T for language, and self-mutilation/harm by the means of a chemical. Also mentions of past child-abuse and disturbing imagery/descriptions. You have been warned.

**Summary: **Based on the Masked Kane Return promo on 11/21/11. Sometimes, our masks define us - and that of the soul of a monster, and a man. Kane-centric.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the WWE, and by retrospect, Kane. Unfortunately. ;A;

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><p><em><span>PHOBIA<span>_

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><p>My fingers do not fumble as the flame ignites beneath them. I do not know how long I stay staring at the single, small wisp of scarlet and orange, but I know it is long enough to feel as if my soul itself has merged with it. The heat hisses at me uncomfortably, and subconsciously, I yearn to drop the match tethering it to life, just let it fall onto the soil and extinguish it forever...<p>

Just like I had.

I growl, the sound rumbling deep from within my throat, but it does not come out quite as forceful as I would like it to be. It's weak, and laughable at best, and this realization infuriates me even more. I am no longer a monster. I am simply... human. Everything I had despised, I had become. How revolting. How... human.

My fingertips begin to sear painfully, and it is then I notice the fire has tipped slightly, so that it is just grazing my fingers. I make no move to pull it away, however. How strange. The longer I let it burn, the less painful it becomes. As it tickles my index finger, coating it in its ember, it even becomes pleasant, nice, as if the flame itself is coaxing me into it. Fire has always fascinated me, comforted me; While others feared and repelled it, I understood and be-seeched it. Welcoming it. Wanting it.

I let my eyelids flutter close as I allow the flame to flutter along my hand, without catching it ablaze, but enough to feel its essence. It feels wonderful, as if I was becoming one with something I had long since separated from myself, like inter-grating the pieces back into a broken mirror.

Suddenly, I wonder how the soothing flames would feel upon my face one again. Just like all of those years ago. I slowly raise it upwards, feeling the heat inches from my nose...

"_Hideous child. The flames burned your cute face into something repulsive, didn't they? Those scars of yours... they are disgusting. You are disfigured, and no one can ever see you, the way you look._ _No, you must be kept hidden away. They would be repulsed by such a creature as you. A monster. You are not human any more, Kane. You are forever shunned by those you must not co-exist with. You are unwanted by those who live out there... you, Kane, are unloved by all except for me. I'm your father. No matter your hideousness or your sickening presence, you are my son, Kane. I will want and love you unconditionally..." _

My eyes snap open. Bearer. How unsightly. I pull the match slightly back away from my face.

_I don't want them to reject me; I want to reject you. _

_I don't want them to despise me; I want to despise you. _

_I don't want you to love me; I want them to._

"_No one loves you, Kane. They can't. Just look at you. A disfigured, pathetic little boy who is best kept hidden away from the world. Only I can see you, Kane. Only I can love you. I'm the only one who won't run in fear from your awful burns, your horrendous face. That face should be kept out of sight, covered for good! But not even then, would anyone accept you... just me, Kane..." _

Another growl.

"Fuck you, Paul," I hiss. "You sick son of a bitch. I'm not the child you had locked in your basement any more, raising me to be your fucking little personal mental-punching bag... or your controlled, unquestioning bitch to get mindless revenge against my brother. I am human! I am a _human being_, Paul!"

My anger distracts me, allowing me to drop the match and extinguish the flames. It flickers, like a candle, before it sizzles, and fades. I stare down at it, unmoving, unyielding, shaking.

"_You're a monster, Kane..." _

A scream emits from my throat as the voice runs through my head again. I crouch down inside the warehouse, my hands above my head as if trying to protect myself from my inner demons. But now even the towel draped across my head can protect me from my own thoughts.

Monster. Monster. I am a monster. A monster...

"_I've become haunted... haunted, by my own humanity..."_

My eyes shut tightly from the pressure as my head begins to spin. Yes... I was a monster. Lately, I felt as if that had been destroyed and replaced by something foreign that I sickeningly became attached to. I became too soft. Too relatable. Too human. I allowed myself to be beaten down and trodden upon by Henry, who dominated me in such a way that I had dominated others in the past, unmercifully. Apathetically. I had become weak.

That was why I had come to this old place. This old place filled with nothing but bad memories. Filled with pain.

But I liked pain.

Raising my head slowly, my eyes drift again to the put-out match on the ground. Peering closer, it takes a moment for me to realize the flame had not been completely extinguished; there was a tiny spark thirsty for life, and knowing full well that fire grew bigger when you gave it a little juice, I found myself compelled to do so. Smirking, I lean down closer and bring my lips close to the tiny flame. A breath escapes my lips, blowing, and soon, it becomes ablaze again, until it is twice the size as before.

A chuckle releases from my chapped lips as I ignite another match from the lit one and bring them upward. I can see my unscarred face reflected in the bright flames, and needing to feel its comfort and presence once more to awaken the monster within me, I press it against my right cheek and let it flow.

At once, I feel the liquid hot searing pain explode onto my face, the flames crawling quickly and un-condescendingly, but I do not scream. In the pain of it all, there is pleasure, peace, and I let it massacre my features, feeling a sense of relief and excitement to hide my face from the world once again. To hide my humanity. To hide myself from even my father.

The rain and wind from the open window above me soon evaporate the flames, leaving an aching detachment in its wake, a tepid displeasure. But I know the damage has been done, and some how, it does not repulse me. I do not and will not be overcome by grief for what I have just done to myself, with the weapon that I had been spared physically from all of those years ago. No. Now the physical scars matched the emotional ones, and it made me feel almost... complete.

My bad eye drifts towards the cabinet, my very reason for coming to this damned place. I walk over slowly, savoring the destruction, the oncoming destruction of my humanity. When I reach it, I pull the handles open, revealing a single black glove laid upon the base. Picking it up, I slide it easily upon my now slightly red hand and let out a breath of content as it feels as if I had just slid on a second skin I had long since scraped away. But that was not what I had come here for.

Extending my other hand forward, I reach slowly, hesitantly, for the red and black mask leaning against the small cracked mirror inside. My fingers trace over the texture, feeling them itch with the desire to grab and hold it, to touch it. Giving into my yearnings, I hold the small mask, deliberately raising it closer and closer towards my scarred, aching face. The true monster existed with the mask. Without it, I was something less than a monster. Something human. My greatest phobia, and for so long it had been my hungriest desire.

Coming to a decision, I placidly snap the mask onto my face, the towel seated atop my head seemingly melting into it with ecstasy. Immediately, my breath hitches, and feelings I hadn't felt in years come rushing back into me. The power. The soul. It did not exist without it. The mask had been my demise, but it had also been my salvation. It always killed me and yet brought me to life. The mask was everything. Everything I was, and could not be. A very reflection of myself. My charred flesh dances in synchronization with the texture at their reunion, and this time, I vow, no matter hell hath no fury, or hellfire and brimstone, would I ever separate them again.

Feeling the kindle of flame reignite within me, I launch my gloved fist forward and feel a burst of satisfaction and pride as the mirror shatters upon contact, along with my humanity, along with my pathetic, conflicting doubts.

There was no longer any need to gaze upon my reflection.

After all, one did not need to see a reflection of himself when it was everything he knew it was.


End file.
